Imbalance
by ThePragmaticManic
Summary: Lore is facing a great danger. When a mysterious force appears that threatens everyone living on the planet, everything slowly declines into chaos and madness. Even Lore's greatest heroes are unable to do anything to counter it. As the world decays, the truly worthy of saving it emerge, but against those that want to watch the world burn, a great imbalance is born.
1. Prologue - Infestation

**Prologue**

 **Infestation**

The town of Battleon hosts only the mightiest of heroes, and in their ranks was the hero who went by no name, but was called by the townsfolk the Holy Vigilante. Legend has it that he was as quick to hide as a shadow in the dark and delivers justice as the sun's rays penetrate the church-windows.

But even he can't solve everything. Lore is facing a mysterious danger, far from the likes it has ever seen before. A magical force is attempting to bring imbalance and destruction to the world, and it can only be stopped by the chosen hero. Many have prophesied that the Holy Vigilante would be the one to put a stop to it, but even he, as skilled as he was, would not be able to stop something that cannot be touched.

He told his fellow guardians that he would train in the forbidden Crystal Caves, and that he planned to learn the secret of the Crystal Orb, since he believed that inside it lies the answer to defeat the evil foe. It has been years since the Decay, or the Infestation, or simply, the Death Plague, has started, and he has yet to return.

This force takes many forms, and devours naught but all. Archmagi refer to it as "time itself, sped up by supernatural causes". They have also tried to locate the source, but all their magic led them back to where they started. Like a disease, it spreads out everywhere, and it seemed to have started from everywhere, and as time went on, things started to unwind.

Warlic, baffled just the same, locks himself up in his cabin and refuses to go out. Yulgar started mass-producing weapons for the guardians, through the command of Artix Krieger, the Paladin, since he believes this is the work of an undead force. Aquilla prepares her underwater army to defend against the decaying waters (though how she would do this, no one has any idea), Aria's pets have either gone berserk or have become incurably diseased, the trainers are just, dying off one by one, even the legendary Combat Practice Trainer.

Meanwhile, at Isle d'Oriens, Vince the drakel moves in and out of the boiler room, salvaging all the machines he can, and flushing it down the toilet. Adder does the same, except instead of spare parts, he is flushing down weaponry upon the earth.

Lady Tomo has become concerned with the fast and increasing deaths of her beloved creatures. She personally descends from the heavens and searches the earth for signs of a cure, going even as far as entering Darkovia, where she was met by a hail of vampires and a horde of wolves.

Speaking of Darkovia, Safiria and her legion has a feast on the sudden number of corpses that have flooded their gates, including her own. It was said that she was reduced to cannibalizing half of her army just to feed the other half, and that her castle was painted red all throughout just one night.

The turmoil at the vampire-side was an opportunity for the Werewolf King. As the vampires were called back at the battlegrounds, the werewolves attacked relentlessly, killing even more vampires on their way to Safiria. The battle for dominion is becoming one-sided.

Paxia's warring clans have suddenly halted, and have made a temporary truce. Iasus, the only legacy of the Kindred living today, attributes the Decay to the Nefrosanctus, and strongly believes that it is the one behind it. Paxus lays silent through the cold nights, still and static, as if in deep thought. Many travelers from all over the land have come to seek Paxus' knowledge, but leave without anything gained.

Back on Battleon, Twilly has ran off, and no one can find him. Many speculate that he's gone off to seek Zorbak, since who else would be so evil as to set off world destruction? Zorbak and his brother Kabroz might be at it again, and this time they have come too far. Would Twilly be able to stop them on his own?

Cyrus, the Dracomancer has descended from Dragonspine mountains, also seeking a cure to the death of his dear dragons. Through some unknown reasons, everything is reversed: the Fire dragons seek the cold north, even though it harms them. The Earth dragons seek the altitude, even though it weakens them to be so far from the surface. The Light dragons hide and cower in deep caverns under the Earth, even though it blinds them greatly. The Energy dragons line-up against the Loloisa shore, unable to cross the boundary between land and water, but are in pain from not being able to.

This sight has brought Cyrus to the edge of his sanity, and even worked together with Galanoth, the Dragonslayer (despite their twisted pasts) to find a cure.

What will happen to Lore if this continues? Everyone is asking themselves, but no one seems to be able to answer.

* * *

In the town of Battleon...

"Yulgar! The living room's on fire again!" Hans shouted from above, who was peering into the Inn's secret entrance to Yulgar's secret underground forge.

"Argh! I told Twig to keep the fireplace in check! Sometimes these fires have a mind of their own." The blacksmith responded, and with a loud and sudden clank, heavy footsteps came one after the other, rising through the Inn.

Yulgar stroked his beard. His once brown hair has turned charcoal-black due to many nights in the forge. His apron was stained with oil, and his arms had multiple cuts and burns on them. He's been busy these past few months, supplying hundreds of weapons every week to the guardians that go in and out of town.

 _The master is starting to get tired._ _At this rate, Battleon won't be able to keep supplying weapons. We need another forge... no, we need more smiths. Adder's celestial weapons are certainly one of a kind, but they take too long to manufacture and the demand for weapons increase everyday. Darn! If it wasn't for this plague!..._ Hans thought to himself.

"Oi Hans! Stop staring at the fires and do something! Get a bucket of water will 'ya!" Yulgar shouted, with stress and anger. He himself thinking deeply about the situation of the Undead war.

"Sorry sir on the way!" Hans ran off to get some from the back.

"And where's Twig for the love of Lore! Managing the inn is no two-man job!" Yulgar grabbed a loudspeaker and rushed outside.

"Attention Mr. Twig! if you can hear this message, then haul your feet in here now!" He shouted such that everyone in the town could hear it, which was untimely, because it was just about two hours after midnight.

He rushed back inside, to see that Hans has begun terminating the fire. "Sir, we are running out of water. The watershed's drying up and no word seems to be coming from the neighboring towns." Hans gulped. The fires grew steadily small as he doused them with water and covered the other areas with blankets. "If this continues, we might not-"

"HAHAHHAHA!" Yulgar bellowed with laughter. "Don't be so negative there, Hans! We'll be doing what we've been doing for the past few months, until we can and until the end." Yulgar grabbed a nearby hammer, and threw it down to the forge, out of randomness. "Now, let's get back to business. The guardians are arriving when the sun rises. I want a new batch of weapons ready!"

Meanwhile, above the Inn, Blackhawke was busy containing the kraken inside the Inn's shower room. But even it slowly weakening, and the forces binding it to the shower are too. If the plague isn't stopped soon, the space-time seal around the bathroom will collapse and the kraken will completely destroy the Inn, a second faster before Yulgar even notices. The other room, labeled 42, is slowly opening. The duct-tape is unfolding, if not, at a slow rate. The bolts are getting loose, and strange sounds are starting to emerge from the secret chamber.

The attic is empty, except for some opened boxes and crates. The window has gotten old and dusty, the wood unpolished and dirty. Cobwebs have been found here and there, since the labor force as decided that maybe hygiene is maybe not the best thing to consider at such a moment of crisis.

Robina Hood's been out of town recently. She has completely devoted herself in the mission of hunting in the wild, as it was now her philosophy to deliver death to the wild and dangerous beasts of Lore before the Decay kills them. So far, the Decay's only been affecting non-humans, which works for some degree to everyone alive, but the steady decline of resources proves to be a problem everyday.

The other shop-owners have completely closed their businesses. Battleon has become more of a outpost for war, with the Guardian Tower as the headquarters. Warlic is no where near coming out of his shop, Aria's slowly descending into madness due to her pets' deaths, the hero's no where to be found nor does he intend on returning anytime soon, and Yulgar's running out of fire. What would be the fate of Lore's most famous and most central town?

* * *

At the southern valleys, near the Canyon of Lost Souls, two enemies meet to solve a common cause. It was Cyrus the Dracomancer, leader of the Order of Dracomancers, and Galanoth the Dragonslayer, leader of the Order of Dragonslayers. Cyrus has changed into his humanoid form, wearing a simple robe and carrying a sheathed long-sword. At his side, Galanoth was in full-battle armor, like he always was, holding tightly his awesome Dragon Blade, reacting strongly to the presence of the Dracomancer.

"You really think the answer lies here, Cyr?" Galanoth asks, looking deeply into the darkness of the pits.

"Don't call me Cyr. And as a matter of fact dragonslayer, I know the answer lies in there. The souls of a thousand, condemned to an early death by the tragic earthquake. Rumors say of a vicious spirit that traps them in the Canyon, sealing their chance of moving on from purgatory."

"Hmm..." Galanoth kneels, and listens for a sign. To his surprise, he heard a whisper, a ghastly voice telling him to jump in, and save the people. He stands and leaps backward. "What in carnation! You must be mad Cyrus! You want to disturb the already restless souls?"

"You are surprised. I would not blame you. I was dubious myself, when I heard this from my source. I inquired greatly about the nature of this mission, and in return I was told that a mystic cure coming from the heart of Darkovia flows through an underground channel and finds itself here. I was also told that the spirits' aura strengthens its effects. If we can get to that channel, then we might be able to fight back."

"A source? Care to tell who it is?"

"If I could, I would."

"Oh you-" he impaled the Dragon Blade to the ground. He approached the Dracomancer with brisk and solid steps , grabbed him by the collar and said, "are you telling me, you brought me all the way here, to risk my life against the unnatural, all because an anonymous source told you so?" Galanoth prepared to punch, but Cyrus quickly got free of his grip. "Has the plague caught up to your mind too?"

"As far as I could see it, Galanoth, you're not suggesting any better ideas. It's either this, or we give up entirely."

Galanoth sighed. He turned around and grabbed the sword. "Tell me how you got the message in the first place, at least." He pointed the sword at the sky, then directly to Cyrus. "Or I'm going to go hunt every dragon alive, even if it means the last of my journey."

"You really want to go that way?"

"You forget that my Order was formed to eradicate the world of these terrifying beasts. You also forget that I'm only going with because I like my job so much handing it over to some disease would be bothersome."

"Bothersome because your pride in killing my kin doesn't allow you to admit that you'd be rendered useless if the dragons disappeared altogether? Bothersome because you can't admit that we're just different sides of the coin, but unlike you, without the Dragonslayers me and my dragons would be much better off in the world? And we'd finally be able to proliferate, just like thousands of years ago."

"Yes indeed, that might be the case. Everything else is slowly dying, and the dragons are being dragged along with them. It might be that the age of the slayers are coming to a halt. Finding a cure would be terrific, because it would benefit much more than the dragons themselves. If you really believe that the cure lies beneath the ground, then I make no effort to stop you."

"Then come with me, and let's solve the problem together. When enemies cooperate, it is often when the desired outcome is achieved."

"The cost outweighs the benefit. I'm bargaining my life, as I cannot cut through ghost-flesh, yet you tell me that the cure _might_ be down there?"

"You think I'm not risking my life as well? If I die here, Dragonspine falls-"

"It was going to fall anyway, not unless-"

"We find the cure. The best chance of doing so is through this Canyon." Cyrus summons his wings, and transforms his left hand into a red-dragon claw.

"Hmm. I'm not going to be the one that dies first. Hey, do you think, we should call him to help us?" Galanoth looks into the distance.

"I heard he went away to a far away place; leaving him alone to train might be the best chance we have of winning."

"Not until we bust this Canyon apart."

Cyrus grinned. "You've changed your mind. Why?"

Galanoth had a plan. But it was so radical, telling anyone now might make them think he's gone insane. But it might serve as a very good contingent in the case Cyrus was lying all along, or if they don't find what they were looking for.

"I've decided. I am going down there with you, but on one condition."

"What?"

"You stay out of my way."

Galanoth summons a wyvern, and rides it into the Canyon deep. Cyrus follows steadily, relying on his wings to guide him down. And together they descend, into the Canyon of Lost Souls.

* * *

In the darkness of Darkovia, a great battle is stirring, greater than those it has hosted before.

At the swamps near the vampire castle, thousands of wolves have attacking, putting the vampire army in the defensive. Protected by the shadows of the land, the vampires hide in the dark and strike quickly and retreat just as fast. They couldn't handle the lycans as efficiently as the wolves could, not until the sun has completely set.

Safiria, the Vampire Queen, walks in her halls of blood, wearing a ruby-colored plate-mail that shines deeply in the reflection of the candle light. She goes to the topmost tower of her home, just as the last rays of sunlight disappeared after twilight. Atop the fortress she felt the power of the moon strengthen her and her army, and the presence of the night empowered them even more.

The vampires retaliate violently. Most of them where vampire warriors recruited by Safiria ages past. Some where the incredibly powerful Dracovamps that have lost their humanity completely to dragon-blood, yet have been converted also by vamprism. These hybrids are considerably more powerful than the normal brood, and considerably harder to control, but the queen has her ways.

"My kin! The time has come! As death creeps in from every corner of Lore, should we succumb to it through the wolves? I have given you immortality, but it seems that the Plague is stronger than eternal life. But as long as the sun sets and the moon rises, we will never die! We may have diminished our numbers, but our strength has increased nonetheless. For your brethren that died for the battle and for you, take vengeance on the lycanthropes, make them regret attacking our deadly abode!"

Immediately multiple shouts and war cries echoed through the battlefield. With their selves fully pumped, the vampires attacked both above and below, those with the gift of flight barrage the wolves from the skies, clawing them at the chest and hurling them with such force they fall like a star. The warriors below elegantly dance around the battlefield, making precise cuts and fast movements, their Blood Swords gleaming in the moonlight.

They are being able to cut through the horde, but the more it continues, the more the other wolves regenerate.

 _We wouldn't be able to advance at this rate. Wolves are pouring in from the north, and Constantin's not to be found anywhere. Something's not right here._ Safiria observed the battlefield from above.

"You could end this easily, my queen." An old voice sounded from behind her.

It was Orlok, Safiria's vampire lore keeper. He was tasked by the Queen to unlock and regain the ancient vampire secrets, as the Vampire legacy goes back thousands of generations. He was old, probably as aged as Safiria herself. But unlike her, he clearly showed signs of aging: crouched back, white hair, wrinkles around the mouth and eyes, and a pale-grayish skin, unlike the traditional moon-white.

"Orlok, I thought you were underground, managing the scrolls. You told me you had the key to victory? I am interested in knowing.

"And you would be pleased, my queen. I should have thought of it the moment the Plague struck Darkovia."

"You mean to move out of the forest and attack the nearby towns? That's rather and old technique to regain our strength, but that's not what I was asking you to do."

"No, of course my queen! Far from it!" He walked to Safiria's side, bathing in the moonlight has thousands of vampire warriors clash against Constantin's forces. "When the Plague struck, your gift of unlife started weakening, and for the others, it got so weak that it was beneficial for the army to consume their remaining life force."

"Yes, I noticed that when our numbers have considerably decreased compared to the wolves. But what I can't figure out why they're increasing in number, while we, the creatures of the night, are dying-off! That shouldn't even be possible!" Safiria clenched the obsidian so hard that it cracked under her strength. "I would go down there myself, and I would probably annihilate half of their numbers. At first I was honoring the rules of war: if their king isn't with them, then I should let the ranks go equally. But at this point-"

"Forgive me for interrupting, my queen, but I think you'd like to hear this next bit." Orlok cleared his throat.

Before he could continue, Safiria went into full battle-mode. She summoned her wings, her eyes glowed red, and her fangs protruded. Her nails grew into deadly claws, and marks of blood appeared on her face and palm. She jumped high into the sky, into the center of the moon. From below the werewolves looked in awe, as the Vampire Queen swooped down from the heavens. As they saw their leader coming, the vampires found a new strength.

"The queen has gotten impatient. But no matter. When enough blood has been spilled, she will know how the war will turn on her favor." Orlok raises his collar against the night wind. He looks to the moon, thinking of how such a beautiful thing would want to hide after the evening passes. "But the question is, what would the wolves do about it?" He goes back inside, grinning, laughing. He knew it was going to be inevitable.

* * *

Many conspire that the Devourer is returning, or that the Void is starting to merge with the physical realm. Or maybe the undead are finally moving out of their dark tombs and started invading. Perhaps the explanation lies even beyond the realm of current knowledge. There are indeed many proposed explanations, but as the world slowly declines, one thing can be for certain: if it is not stopped, then soon there would be no one to ponder on how to prevent it.


	2. Chapter 1 - The Celestial Pinkness

**Chapter 1**

 **The Celestial Pinkness**

After a hard night at the forge, Yulgar opens up his Inn for business. As he sees everyday, once he opens up he sees an empty and a lonely town, that's soon to be filled by passing soldiers that go in for only about a week, then they go out into the field again. Indeed, these are hard times.

The town's garden square has deteriorated, leaving only a few crops of wilted grass and dried up trees. The wooden buildings have aged greatly in the last few months, weakening them, making them more vulnerable to termites, and causing them to "wrinkle" and crack. Most of the townsfolk has either died or moved to another town.

Two hours after sunrise, a platoon of soldiers could be seen marching in the distance. Some holding spears, some swords, and some just shields. They wore the signature gray plate with a yellow accent, accompanied by a red cape. The Guardians approached, tired and weary from a long week's battle. And among them was a person no one expected to come, but was generally joyful that he did. The remaining people of Battleon was exulted at his arrival, because after almost a year of not dropping by, after almost a year of battling the undead in Greenguard: Artix von Krieger has returned. And with him he wielded his golden-undead-slaying axe, which has killed over a thousand undead soldiers.

Yulgar opened all the doors to the Inn. Under normal circumstances, he would prepare a lot more than 2 kegs, but shortage has brought him to serving sweetened-water. The Paladin leader went straight to Yulgar's desk, while the other soldiers try to find comfort in the lounge and living room, cheering and toasting to each other, all the while they try to hide the immense feeling of fear and regret.

"Hm." Yulgar scans his now-filled Inn. "Your numbers decrease every time you enter this place. I recall just last summer you needed all three-floors. But now you're barely occupied the first two." He grabbed a glass mug from under the tabletop. "Here," he glanced around. "One of the very few quality drinks left. You seem to need it."

 _Seem to need it_ was what he said, but that was a great euphemism. Artix looked like and undead paladin. There were bags under his eyes, his stature was grimly thin, but yet he kept the strength to carry on the guardian army. His hair was no longer formal and orderly, it was wavy, curled, and just plain messy.

"Thanks Yulgar. This might be getting hard for you, huh? Everything's just falling apart." Artix stares at the alcohol-filled mug. He looks at his reflection, and the reflection of the other soldiers around him. "Everything's just falling."

The ambient happiness of the soldiers was dubious too, at least, sarcastic, until they got to cheering Artix' battle prowess.

"Did you see how he killed that Undead hell-hound with just one swing?" Said one.

"The skeletal Goliath that took 12 soldiers to wound, took him 3!" Exclaim the other.

"How about that time when Mir took a spear to the shoulder, Artix healed her almost as easily."

"We will never lose!"

The others repeated the chant.

"They seem rather optimistic." Yulgar wipes the mug in his hand. "Of course, soldiers of war should celebrate every moment they could outside the battlefield, in the comfort of safety. But with an undead threat and the Plague, well, one could only say."

"Yeah well, anything to get the memory of battle out of their minds. At least, for just a moment. But it's a bit too late for it to get out of my mind. See this Yulgar?" Artix removes his right hand-glove. "This _mark_."

The Innkeeper saw burned skin. Yulgar saw something else. "W-where did you get that?"

The mark burned a symbol into the target's hand, no matter where the spell initially hit him. It was a mufti-layered circle that got more severe the closer it got to the middle. What's so insidious about it is that only an ancient kind of undead can cast such a spell, and that it casts a cursed wound that can never be healed and worsens over time.

"I didn't know any undead magus was capable of this. So far only two people have been hit by it. Me, and that man in the corner." He pointed to a helmeted soldier, presumably sleeping, leaning his head on the corner of the wall. "I don't think he's noticed it yet."

"How well do you know him?" Yulgar asked, because that soldier was the only one with the helm on. "Seems pretty distant from the others."

"I don't know. Just showed up to the army one day. Fights pretty well, so I never questioned his identity. As long as he fights for our side, then that's good enough. One thing though. He's not the typical warrior. I've tested him once in a spar. He doesn't use a long sword that well, but the moment he drew two short swords, that was a different story."

"Oh? That's surprising."

"That's not all though. I've tried and met each one of these soldiers, at least before they go to war. I haven't seen his. He's very adamant about removing the helm. The kind of adamant that possesses either masked convicts or those with a bad past.."

"If I were you, I'd go up to him right now, get to him face-to-face. Because in my years of war experience, if the tide of battle turns, almost always there would be the one guy that gets selfish. Don't let that anonymity be the reason." Yulgar puts down the last mug. "Now if you'll excuse me, Hans and I have to finish cleaning up the Forge. The weapons-"

"Wait." Artix went behind the counter. "We actually, need less the usual amount this week."

"Yeah, I know. I anticipated this much of a loss in numbers, I decreased the weapon-count in conjunction."

"No, that's not it. Uh, I actually don't know how to tell you."

Yulgar's been working at the Inn almost his whole life. So long actually that he accidentally studied the behavioral patterns of his customers when they are in discomfort, or when they're trying to deceive him, or when they're genuinely happy. Kinesics, haptics, all kinds of nonverbal languages. Such is the trade of the Innkeeper.

 _What is Artix... you're showing me signs of nervousness.. of, oh._ "Concealed dissapointment."

"I guess I don't have to tell you then."

"It's not my fault. Beer-stocks' been running low, and we all know damn well why."

"What? No, it's not that. But rather, a question has been forced to become asked, and such a question was, I thought, would never become applicable to you, Yulgar, considered one of Lore's best smiths, probably the best one there is on land."

Yulgar glanced around the Inn. That's when he saw what Artix might be referring to. At first he didn't believe it, but now that he's seeing real physical signs of it, it has to be considered.

"Oh."

"It's not your fault man. Divinity's just on a whole different level than Lorean weaponry. Somehow the Plague couldn't get to Adder's weapons, or at least, gets to them slower, but it completely deteriorated yours after a few clashes with the dead."

"Excuse me." Yulgar leaves to go to the back room. He ordered Hans to take care of the customers in his absence.

Artix was sad, because he knew how much Yulgar takes pride in his weapons. But the Plague is getting in the way of that ,and that made Artix frustrated, even angry, to the point that he cracked the wooden floorboard with just one step. Everyone looked at him for a moment, but he ignored the surprised soldiers and went to the one who wasn't. The helmeted soldier who was probably the best one he had left.

* * *

Every now and then the Guardian army hires an adventurer to Guardianship, and usually this act of hiring increases the number of soldiers. But as time went on, the number of keen and battle-curious adventurers decreased, resulting to the only two new recruits that they got for this year: Gom and Boa.

They were siblings, very odd siblings at that. The army's fond to have them around. They have no real battle-value, but they make up for it by their attitudes. Gom was older, stronger, fatter. Boa was younger, and the exact opposite from his brother. Over the armor, almost no other difference could be seen between them. They had the same blond hair, golden eyes, and the same height. Gom's voice was higher and thinner, Bom's was deep and low.

It was the middle of the afternoon. Most of them were asleep, except for the brother and sister. Bom was on a hill top, a little up north from the Guardian Tower, observing the vast fields of grass that's wilting away. Gom was behind her, looking upon the town, a shadow of its former self. The spring breeze felt like winter's. Slow and cold.

Bom raised her collar against the cold wind. He wore a sleeveless jacket, not because he wanted to, but because it was a special gift from his brother. The sleeves were torn away during an accident, and so he made a fresh alter to the whole clothing for consistency. He never bothered to remove the metal-leggings, because he believed war's close enough that he'd put them back on again anyways. Why not leave a piece of armor on indefinitely?

"Haven't you ever thought of it as a dome, brother?" Bom inquired, even though he knew Gom wouldn't even think deeply about his answer back.

"Hm."

"We don't have the technology to leave Lore. Abandoning the planet isn't an option. And we also can't just cure it as easily. I mean, even if we a cure actually existed, we could either be dead by the time it's found or we it might be diminished by the Plague for all that matters."

"Oh, huh?" Gom raised his head sleepily. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"You're never paying attention. But that's okay. Ignorance is bliss."

"No sis, it's not that." Gom clenched the grass and soil beneath him, getting a sense of the dying world they live on. "What's the point of contemplating? Because there is such a thing as hope and despair. People think their the opposite sides of the same coin, but they're not. Hope is an eraser, it deletes sadness and melancholy, brings about clarity, happiness. But this..." Boa looked to where his hand was. Dirt and soil turning as fine as sand. "This is despair. It's not written by ink; it's carved in stone. Hope can only do so much."

Boa grinned. Not out of surrender, but of surprise. "You barely say things like that. From mom's death, to joining the army, to the plague. Maybe it is a dome after all, trapping us here, forcing out change when we don't expect it. We were always taught that to change the world, you have to change yourself. But the world _is_ change. Even if you don't want to, you'll be brought along with the river, carried to unknown shores with everyone alive."

"Look sis I appreciate everything you're saying but right now it's not making any sense to me. I just want to grab some rest under the pale pink sky."

 _Silence._

"Wait, what?" Boa gazes up immediately, upon the cherry-blossom sky. "What is this?"

"I don't know. But it's expanding. I've been staring at it ever since we came up here."

"You don't think that this might be... Gom?"

"The plague? Is it affecting the sky too?"

They stood up from their resting place. The siblings hurried down to the town-square and split up. Boa went to the Inn and Gom hurried to the Guardian Tower. The two roused every sleeping soul in town, because weirdly enough, no one seems to have noticed.

After only a few minutes, everyone gathered beneath the Guardian tower, except for Artix. Gom was with a few officers atop the guardian tower.

"What on Lore is that?" someone asked.

"Isn't it not clear? It's the Plague! It's eating the ground, and now it's draining the sky!" An old man from the back of the crowd shouted.

"It's the work of the gods! They're telling us something! Isn't that right?"

"It might be a random mutation in the atmosphere!" another one imposed.

For the first few minutes of observing the growing pink sky, many theories were thrown around. Most of them threw the general public into chaos, such that the guardians had a hard time keeping order.

Near the Inn, Yulgar and Hans were also looking upon the strange scenery. They were one of the first who noticed it, just before Boa got to the Inn to warn them.

"Hans." Yulgar closed the window.

"Yes, sir. I want to doubt it, too, but at we're seeing here,"

"When that crack in the sky first appeared, we were assured by the Eternal that it wouldn't do this. Because when it does-"

"It signifies a bad future." Hans continued. Taking off his glasses, he heads down to the forge.

"Tsk." Yulgar watched his apprentice walk down the metal steps. "I never thought the day would come when Hans returns to the forge. When he shows what he's _really_ capable of. But what about you, hero? Where are you now? We need you."


End file.
